Eggs
by Summersfan
Summary: Canonfriendly Spikemusing before he harbors the demon eggs in Season 6.


Disclaimer: I don't own Spike, or any of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  
  
Summary: I've never yet seen anyone look into Spike's head during the demon egg debacle, except for the cursory explanation that he did it to get money to relieve Buffy's situation. I don't buy it. Here's, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story.  
  
Title: Eggs  
  
Rating: PG, because it's Spike  
  
Spike sat leaning against a gravestone. The gravestone of one Joyce Summers, to be exact.  
  
Which he seldom was these days.  
  
He had a lot of free time on his hands just now. He wasn't spending a lot of time getting in any violence—not since Buffy had got back, really. Oh, on occasion he'd help out, but only to be nearer to Buffy. For the most part he wasn't.  
  
Why bother? He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a Scooby.  
  
What was he?  
  
He lit another cigarette, wishing Joyce were here. She was a smart woman. She'd seen right off that Dru wasn't for him. Seen that she wasn't what he needed.  
  
Now he was close, very close to what he needed. Very, very close. And yet, she couldn't be further away.  
  
It was driving him insane.  
  
She was using him. He wasn't stupid. He knew that every time with him she was half-hoping not to wake up again. That first night, she'd hoped that now that he had fangs again he'd use them. He understood that she was only staving off the pain.  
  
He didn't care. He had Riley's half a cup, the half he had so envied before. She was there, but she only hated him. Nothing more.  
  
It was killing him.  
  
It was tearing him up. It was as if she'd forgotten what he was.  
  
Worse than that. As if he'd never been anything but what she wanted him to be. The occasional side-kick, the occasional lay.  
  
He wanted so much more than she'd ever give him. He knew it was impossible, but he wanted it anyway. He'd hoped that when she saw that he was able to hit her, to kill her, that she'd finally see the self control he had. He hadn't bit her once.  
  
Well, he'd used his teeth on her. But not the sharp ones.  
  
He had hoped she would accept him as one of her kind. Accept him as she had accepted Angel.  
  
He shied away from the name as if burned, mentally stamping it out.  
  
She hadn't accepted him. Oh, she'd run to him. She'd used him. But she hadn't accepted him.  
  
He tossed down the cigarette into the pile accumulating beside Joyce's grave.  
  
She'd taken Riley, even knowing that he was a member of a top-secret government agency that was her enemy. Even after it had been revealed. She'd accepted him for what he was.  
  
But she would never accept Spike for what he was.  
  
He hated this. Hated being stuck in this perpetual half-dead haze. Never knowing where he stood. Being kept out of her life, at arm's length. At the same time he loved it; he was inside her life further than he'd ever thought he'd be.  
  
Still, it hadn't worked. He'd played harmless for so long, but all she was the monster.  
  
She didn't trust him.  
  
And he'd been avoiding the other demons now, so that he wouldn't have to face the truth. The truth of what he was. Of what he had always been.  
  
One of them. The things that Buffy killed on a regular basis.  
  
Clem came wandering up to him, carrying a plastic bag of some sort of food. He was crunching it between his teeth loudly, smiling genially. "Hey, Spike." He said. "How're you doing?"  
  
"Good." Said Spike glumly. "What's up?"  
  
Clem shrugged. "Some guy just offered me money for some thing."  
  
Spike glared at him. "Thing?"  
  
"You know." Said Clem vaguely. "The dangerous kind."  
  
Spike glumly considered the empty carton of cigarettes in his pocket. "How much money?" He asked.  
  
And how was he expected to survive? Oh, sure, the high and mighty Slayer worked—he couldn't work. Nobody wanted to hire a vampire. Not humans, who couldn't tolerate anyway. Not demons, who all hated him now.  
  
And he needed money for blood and cigarettes. He couldn't survive without the blood—and he couldn't think without the cigarettes.  
  
"And you think I'll do it, eh?" He asked Clem, eyeing him.  
  
Clem shrugged. "You were saying yesterday that you needed money—I thought this might be good for you. Though, I don't know. It's something about demon eggs—the Slayer may not like it if you do that."  
  
Spike nearly shifted to game face as a wave of anger passed through him. The Slayer may not like it?  
  
She didn't even know what he was any more. That's what she needed. A good hard reminder of what she was dealing with. Maybe that would make her remember how evil he could be—the things he'd done.  
  
Maybe then she would stop treating him like this. Maybe now she would let him in.  
  
"Let's go." He said harshly, dragging Clem out of the cemetery. "Where?"  
  
"The bar." Said Clem nervously.  
  
They stumbled inside, and Clem pointed him to a nervous looking man with white hair. Spike marched over to him, sitting on the stool beside his. Clem drifted off into the background.  
  
"I hear you have a little something needs doing." Said Spike.  
  
"I have...some eggs." Said the other man carefully. "Out back. I need them stored safely."  
  
"Is this evil?" Asked Spike. The other man blinked at him, surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. Spike grabbed the front of his shirt, switching into game face. "Is this something that could destroy the world?!" He demanded.  
  
"Yes—maybe!" Said the white-haired man, his eyes widening.  
  
Spike smirked. "Good." He said.  
  
This would do it. This would show her. This would break her out of it—break her out of the pattern they'd fallen into. Fun as it was, he needed to go further. He needed more than just her body.  
  
When they slept together, she wasn't with him. She kept herself far away and safe, while at the same time pretending to be right there with him. While her body was right there with him.  
  
He wanted her. All of her, not just her body. He wanted her to be there with him all night. He wanted the side of her that she would never show him, but that he had seen with her mother, with Dawn, with the other Scoobies...even with Angel.  
  
He ground that thought out like a cigarette underneath his heel.  
  
"They must be kept refrigerated." Said the white haired man.  
  
"What happens if they aren't?" Asked Spike.  
  
"They'll hatch here." Said the white-haired man.  
  
"I want half up front." Said Spike.  
  
"Here." The man stuffed a white envelope into Spike's hands. Spike slid it into his coat without looking at it. This wasn't about money any more.  
  
He wouldn't refrigerate the eggs, he decided. If they carted them off and released them elsewhere, Buffy would never learn about it. Never realize what had happened.  
  
He needed her to realize.  
  
As the white-haired man led him to the eggs, he grinned.  
  
Finally, he'd found a way to get closer to Buffy. He hoped that these eggs, when hatched, would produce the one thing he could never get, the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world.  
  
Buffy's love.  
  
And, what's more, he'd get to do a little evil while doing it. That sent a thrill up his spine. And, even more important, he'd made a tidy profit off it, too. He smiled, humming the tune of the song he'd sung Buffy.  
  
Yeah, things were looking up. 


End file.
